


Accidentally Yours

by neichan



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-14
Updated: 2009-10-14
Packaged: 2019-02-05 16:49:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12798462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neichan/pseuds/neichan
Summary: Lorne asks a very pertinent question, and John needs to think it through before he has an answer.





	Accidentally Yours

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Haven, the archivist: This story was originally archived at [Fandom Haven Story Archive (FHSA)](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Fandom_Haven_Story_Archive), was scheduled to shut down at the end of 2016. To preserve the archive, I began working with the OTW to transfer the stories to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2017. If you are this creator and the work hasn't transferred to your AO3 account, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Fandom Haven Story Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/fhsa/profile).

  
Author's notes: Finally, the Moonridge fic I promised. One more to go....and yes, I have started it! Anyway, this fic is 11 pages according to my tools...I hope you enjoy.  


* * *

"What?" John Sheppard asked out of the corner of his mouth, a little above a murmur, so only the two of them standing shoulder to shoulder heard it. He wasn't facing the man who he was talking to. He was instead watching Dr. Rodney McKay on his hands and knees scraping away at a pile of stones and dirt and...stuff. Rodney was attacking the mound like a dog with a stick in its jaws, stubborn and determined. Not about to let it go or to be diverted. John knew better than to take his eyes off him for long. It might seem like McKay was focused on the pile, but his attention could be easily captured by some other fascinating collection of...whatever...leading to another...whatever....and then he'd be gone, out of John's sight and John would have to find him.

 

McKay dug at the hard mound with more energy than John was feeling right then, scooping up shovelfuls of rock and dirt. It was hot, the air thick with humidity, John hated humidity. Rodney was muttering something under his breath, sweat rolling down his face. Rodney paused long enough to mop at his face, and to take a big swig of water from his canteen, grimacing at the sky, then he was back at it.

 

Digging, digging, digging. His back was strong now, thick with muscle shifting under his shirt. Rodney had always had muscle, always been strong, more thickly built than John, even when he'd been fat he'd been stronger than John. He hadn't looked it, but there had been a very telling time early on, when Rodney had moved equipment out of his way with almost negligent ease while the Marine following him had been brought up short a few minutes later. The Marine had grunted, surprised and had to strain to move the console himself. John had watched it, then surreptitiously tried moving when everyone else was occupied. Rodney, even out of shape, was strong. John could run rings around him, but Rodney could lift a hell of a lot more.

 

John let out the sigh he'd been holding in. McKay had his head down looking into the hole he'd created. He seemed interested. Great, it looked like they were going to be here a while. He eyed the thunderheads that darkened the sky. With his luck they'd still be here when the rain started.

 

A scientist on a mission...General O'Neill had said something about scientists...you just had to hold on tight and go with whatever it was they wanted. Because once they got the bit in their teeth, there was no way you were going to change their mind. He'd been talking about Dr. Jackson of course, not Rodney, but John was beginning to see it applied to McKay just as well as it did to Jackson. Though, Rodney was a little more irascible about it than Daniel had seemed. Jackson had seemed almost pleasant if you never saw the fanatical gleam of interest kindle in his eyes. The single-minded stubbornness, that ability to focus more tightly than anything but a laser, that was definitely a primary characteristic of both men. They had the ability to ignore all practical considerations, like say, safety, once they were caught up in the hunt. It hardly mattered what it was they were hunting. In Rodney's case usually knowledge, food, or a ZedPM.

 

"So," Lorne repeated the question after a momentary pause, sort of casually, if whispering could be called casual, "how many times have you and McKay been married?" He was standing next to John under a few really big oak-like trees, with a whole forest of the same at their backs, layered over gently rolling hills that stretched as far as John could see. Underfoot the ground was spongy with the weirdest yellow grass John had ever seen. Walking on it strained at his calves and thighs, it was like running in sand. The grass covered small hummocks of earth every where there weren't trees.

 

Both men were sweating. It was damn hot. Lorne drank from his canteen, then capped it and looked over at his commanding officer. John stared back sort of surprised to be asked, not sure what to say. He pursed his lips, thinking. Lorne looked around, not forgetting to check the terrain, even if he was trying to start a conversation. John was happy to break eye contact and look around, too.

 

This planet reminded Sheppard of something else General O'Neill said, "Trees. Always, ~trees~." Just like that comment about scientists, John hadn't understood the tone at first, but he did now, he had figured it out by his twentieth mission. Flying over planet after planet in the puddle-jumpers. There were always trees. And lots of nasty things hid behind trees. Your scientist, the one you were supposed to keep alive because no one else could keep Atlantis running like McKay, will also always want to go into the trees. Today that wasn't the case, not yet, Rodney was digging at the very edge of the forest not in it, but John wasn't about to relax and trust he wouldn't vanish into them on some harebrained chase just yet. He was, John was sure, just waiting for John to turn his back. Then there would be bad things, and screaming and running and John would have to shoot things.

 

On this particular tree laden world, he and Lorne and the rest of the Marines had all weapons at the ready, on watch while Rodney did his thing a few feet away and Lorne's scientist wandered sulkily around at a safe distance from McKay's acid tongue. The tone Rodney used with her was the one he usually reserved exclusively for Kavanaugh and his ilk.

 

The two scientists didn't like each other. Beautiful blonde bombshell or not, Rodney couldn't stand the woman, his mobile lips thinning in warning whenever she got near. She got the message pretty fast and now stayed out of his line of sight whenever the two teams met up. John knew there was a story there, but getting it out of Rodney had been impossible so far. Not that John had given up discovering what it was. He'd give McKay time to relax, let his guard down, then he'd pry it out of the other man. Maybe over a few Athosian beers.

 

John learned how to bide his time in the service. Hurry up and wait wasn't a joke so much as a frank statement of what it was like to be a soldier ninety percent of the time. Sheppard knew how to be patient, he would wait and watch until he had his answers. After all, if the dislike was this extreme, the story had to be good.

 

Beside him, Lorne shifted silently a sense of waiting anticipation surrounding him, which reminded John he'd been asked a question. WTF? John thought about the question he'd been asked. OK, he'd never thought any of the soldiers would ask him that particular question. Maybe Heightmeyer would. Or Teyla, if she was trying to make a point. But who else? Well, Lorne apparently. Because he just had. Which meant John had to figure out how to respond.

 

Lorne was close enough that John felt the movement without having to look over his shoulder. A sixth sense that the soldiers who survived developed, an awareness that went beyond everyday senses and clued you into your environment on a whole new level. It wasn't something you saw or felt or even heard. Nothing either man wore was new enough to creak or pop. Noises like that could get a man killed in a combat situation. Sheppard could ~sense~ Lorne moving, but he couldn't have explained how to a civilian, the men and women who could understand would just know what he meant.

 

They'd been standing watch with short breaks for roaming more than two hours now. The landscape, the trees, the rolling grassland was becoming very familiar. John swept his gaze over it one more time. Not a thing moving. Not a bird, or a mouse, or anything but the teams. Which, OK, boring, but good. Another boring trek to planet X. John would take that over exciting most any day.

 

Face it, it was people who made things exciting. Running, screaming, shooting exciting as well as the good kinds of exciting. This was just one more big, tree covered, uninhabited-by-people world. No cities that weren't in ruins. No people, no culture. Rubble. That was what brought them here. Big old piles of rubble.

 

Still avoiding answering Lorne's question, John stole a hopeful look at McKay, after all Rodney might be ready to leave, maybe he wasn't finding anything and wanted to head back to Atlantis. Maybe John would get back in time not to miss his 'dinner and sex' date with Paula Sands, the stunning new geophysicist who had come over with the last batch from the Daedelus. It had been a few weeks since his last sex date, and he was primed for it. If Rodney would cooperate and let him get back to Atlantis on time.

 

John's hopeful gaze revealed that leaving any time soon wasn't going to happen. Yeah, fat chance of that, Rodney was still burrowing, showing no signs of slowing. If anything he looked more determined, more focused. His olive drab T-shirt was soaked with perspiration, sticking to his back. Sheppard stifled another sigh. He was going to be late, again. Paula wasn't going to forgive him. There wasn't going to be sex that didn't involve his own right hand. John would be lucky if there was a possibility of a future date, given all the times he stood Paula up. He was pretty sure this had been his last chance to make good with her, she'd made it clear without putting it into words. Shape up, Sheppard, or no access to warm, wet sweetness for you.

 

He was aching for it. And, he was going to be stuck here, watching the grass and trees, and Rodney's ass sticking up out of a hole in the ground.

 

Sheppard looked left, Lorne looked right. Nothing threatening lurked or loomed. Then John looked back at McKay as he rooted around some more. He licked his lips. Then he looked at Lorne who looked...mildly alarmed. John watched him a bit longer trying to figure the look out.

 

"What?" John scanned the terrain again in case he'd missed something. Nothing, he glanced back at Lorne.

 

Lorne was quiet, then he shifted uncomfortably. "Sorry, sir, I didn't mean..."

 

"Relax," John said, watching him with interest. John wasn't the only one who was a little rattled. Lorne was nervous about the question he'd asked, too. That was interesting. That meant the question wasn't just casual, that it was important on some level to the man who asked it. Ok. Hmm. It wasn't easy to shake up the even tempered Lorne. Which changed his mind about talking. They were friends John liked to think. No reason they couldn't talk about this.

 

McKay swore and threw something just then, so John went back to watching Rodney for a minute, doing a quick threat assessment rather than replying.

 

Rodney was crouched down and grumbling next to a pretty impressive pile of rubble, using his small folding shovel to more carefully clear away debris, busy unearthing what looked like a tangled mass of wire, oblivious to anything else that was going on around him. Despite his seeming patience with the task John recalled the start of the mission when SGA-1 had arrived planet-side.

 

Teeth bared, McKay had chased Lorne's archaeologist away when the woman fussed over the way Rodney was excavating the ground where he wanted to search without regard to recording the locations of items found. Rodney just tossed them aside with the rest of the dirt if it wasn't what he was looking for, having no interest in preserving them at all. She had shown a decided tendency to return and lament over the items tossed haphazardly aside. Maybe if she hadn't been so vocal about her lamentations it all might have been fine. It had gone downhill from there until John had pulled the Marines aside and let them know that under no circumstances were they to let Dr Davies near Dr McKay unless Sheppard himself gave them the word. McKay had made it clear he was territorial. John learned that lesson on day one.

 

A steadily growing pile of dirt and a jumble of other things sat to the side on the hole being dug by John's scientist.

 

Rodney on a hunt was pretty much unidirectional, he had no patience with following rules he wasn't interested in or hadn't made himself. It was a good bet Rodney was too far away and too preoccupied to hear Lorne's question. No doubt he would have scoffed at the question, lips twisted in derision, blustered if he had heard it, or, possibly he'd have simply ignored it. McKay wasn't always predictable.

 

About that question....John glanced at Lorne trying to think his reply through, because, face it, it ~was~ a strange thing for one military guy to say to another military guy, unless they were from the Netherlands or something. Especially considering the DADT thing, which...wasn't a thing any more thank more to Elizabeth than the US Military services, Sheppard reminded himself. Well OK, fine. They could talk about it. And if Sheppard was being truthful then he knew why Lorne was bringing it up.

 

That last time the Pegasus natives had married him and McKay on MXP-593 that time had been different. Though John was not about to admit it out loud. It had been a subtle difference. Not a get out of your clothes and party kind of way, but noticeable none the less.

 

It had never been important to John, who slept with who, unless they were sleeping with him, and he kept forgetting that it wasn't supposed to be a big deal to ~anyone~ any more. Not since DADT had been sort of repealed. Which made this...a strange thing for one straight guy to ask another straight guy, sure, but permissible, no longer dangerous. Without all the negative consequences it might have once held.

 

Yep, weird question, even admitting that the cultures in the Pegasus Galaxy seemed bent on putting him and Rodney into the same bed every chance they got. Not that he and Rodney actually got into bed after most of the little ceremonies, rich food and copious alcohol, and celebratory dancing only made possible by said alcohol consumption. John was not usually a dancer having far too many elbows and knees to make it look good. Rodney though--John had to swallow, a drunk McKay had an unexpected rhythm, slow, feeling, sensual as all hell. So yeah, maybe John had sorta half-danced with him, instead of just next to him. But it had been innocent. absolutely.

 

There was that one time when the men of the village put the two of them on a bed and carried it all around the village while roaring intriguingly obscene suggestions at the top of their lungs, Rodney clinging like a limpet to the lurching mattress, John waving at the women who came out to see and to giggle, John being a hell of a lot more used to things moving crazily under him, he was a pilot after all. It was all like a primitive roller coaster. Kinda fun.

 

Mostly getting married was a lot of kneeling down while a priest or priestess, or some spectacularly old village leader said words to the affect that they were married, partnered, joined, combined, sworn blah, blah, etc. Followed by John and Rodney nodding, or agreeing and swearing to it out loud to keep everyone happy. Then there were flower petals, lots of them, or that time with the tiny green and gold grains dumped over their heads, which turned out to be jeweled beads that Teyla said were worth gathering up and saving for trade, but which actually ended up in a big dish in John's room where they sparkled when the light hit them just right. John had been picking them out of his hair for a day after they were dumped on him. And there was always helping McKay to his feet, leaning on each other so neither would fall, and good, yeasty beer, or what passed for it. Lots of beer. Not that John was complaining and McKay it turned out was a real fan of good beer. He wasn't a bad dancer, either. Much better than John.

 

Lots of beer meant there was singing, and cavorting, and arms around shoulders, usually his arm around McKay's shoulders as he was just that much taller, but sometimes McKay's arm around his waist, free hands holding a vessel be it mug, cup or flask full of some kind of intoxicating beverage. Some good times were had by all during those wedding parties. John sort of looked forward to them.

 

And the last time, there had been Rodney's head on John's shoulder, feeling like it belonged there. Then, when John passed out, his head in Rodney's lap, through no fault of his own and definitely without prior planning, he'd woken to fingers running through his hair, stroking across his forehead and stubbled cheek. Rodney's touch soothing him back to sleep. There had been waking snuggled up to a bulky, warm, very male body with Cadman's boot prodding his heel. Her efforts at blank-face after finding them cuddling under a shared blanket...weren't.

 

Turned out just about every gossip on Atlantis had been witness to that little interlude, not just Cadman. The story made the rounds of Atlantis like a wild fire traveling up a hill. John had chosen to ignore it. The looks, the oblique hints, no one had worked up the guts to come out directly and ask. Until now. Lorne was the first person to come right out and ask him anything like this. Atlantis' staff on the whole were a tolerant group of people. And no one mistook John's laid back attitude as an invitation to shoot the breeze on this particular subject. And of course no one in their right mind would bring it up to McKay. Not even the scientists who were almost as bad when it came to gossiping as the soldiers were.

 

It wasn't like John was gay or anything, he was pretty sure he didn't give off those vibes, he was just a friendly guy. If he had been effeminate or obvious in any way, that would have been enough to really torpedo his career much more effectively than the

insubordination and ignoring-orders-to-rescue-fellow soldiers-and-putting-a-multi-million-dollar-machine-at-risk-of-falling-into-enemy-hands had. And that had been a close call.

 

You could tell a military commander he couldn't discriminate, pass a law, make a pretty speech, but hell, a determined officer would just find another reason to get rid of you if he really wanted 'the faggot' out of his hair. John had seen that happen often enough. And it didn't just happen to gays. There were other ways to become unpopular. Like disobeying orders. The "your transmission is breaking up" radio reception excuse didn't hold water. John had landed in hot shit all on his own without being gay at all.

 

Yep, a commander had options if he wanted you out of his hair, there were jobs that virtually guaranteed a soldier would resign in short order. Or there'd be a special place to station you. Like the Antarctic.

 

John hadn't minded being assigned to the Antarctic. He hadn't been sent there because of any rumor he was gay. He'd been a whole different kind of pain in his commander's ass. When a politically ambitious General, who didn't want any waves disturbing his chances at a future in government, tells a promotion hungry Colonel to, "make an example of that insubordinate SOB" the Colonel, if he didn't want to be a colonel for the rest of his career, did just that.

 

And voila! John Sheppard--this is your life in the Antarctic.

 

Being stationed at the bottom of the world in frequently zero degree temperatures actually hadn't hurt his career much at all because here he was in Atlantis, which was the best assignment he'd ever had. He was out of the unhappy General's line of sight, and the General was out of his. John couldn't be more pleased. The Antarctic wasn't all that close to any outside recreation, and the weather meant the pursuit of fun was limited to indoor games. John liked those kinds of games. He was good at them. It didn't take long for him to begin making the acquaintance of the female population stationed there.

 

Then came the surprise chance at a new assignment. He volunteered to fly an irascible General who had everyone else ducking for cover over to some secret base. Face it John would willingly brave just about anything for a chance to fly, and he found out he was just the kind of guy they were looking for. Pure genetic coincidence, but there you were.

 

He was a Colonel now, the military head of Atlantis, he got to boss other people around a lot more than he wanted to. The good part of that was there wasn't anyone to boss him around. Elizabeth hadn't counted in the military hierarchy, and John learned how to negotiate with her rather than argue after a few sort of painful lessons. Painful for the ego, and painful in other ways. When he and Weir didn't work off the same page people died. They had a good working relationship, now. John really had no complaints.

 

Though now that he thought about it, he got to be bossed around by the man who was digging in the ruins on his hands and knees currently presenting only his backside to John's and Lorne's view. McKay, head of the science team, wasn't very good at being diplomatic. He couched everything as a demand. Rodney made John look like the great peacemaker.

 

Maybe that was what had prompted Lorne's question. McKay's position was sort of suggestive, if you thought about it. Rump in the air, it sort of brought things to mind, unbidden. Soldiers thought like that. Guys thought like that. Even ones who weren't gay. John contemplated the part of Rodney he could see.

 

It was a good ass as those things went. Not that John made a habit of noticing men's asses, but keeping his team in shape kept all of them safer, and McKay's once hefty cheeks had slimmed down. They weren't skinny by any means, strong and solid, just like his thighs and damn, McKay could run like the wind now, complaining all the way naturally, but he could run. Add the new muscle to Rodney's already well developed sense of self preservation, and John was pleased to be able to say that Rodney wasn't an anchor his team dragged around like some of the other scientists. When push came to shove, Rodney could take care of himself. And he had the reflexes of a teenager on speed when it came to reacting to scary things. There had been that time when Rodney had shot a Wraith three times in the head in the time it took John to deliver one blast to the body....

 

Today they'd found another Ancient site on yet another Pegasus world, (well Lorne's group had gone out first and found it), an unimpressive ruin of broken rubble toppled towers and rock looking very much liked it had been bombed at one time. Maybe by the Wraith ten thousand years ago. Now it was almost buried by trees, strangled by roots, and John was pretty impressed that Lorne's team had found it at all.

 

When he'd heard about the find, Rodney had insisted that he personally go take a look, so here John was and once again there was a possibility, a slim one naturally, that there might be a powered up ZedPM involved somehow, maybe buried under a rock just waiting for the right person to discover it. Rodney was determined to find out, and John was going to make sure finding out didn't get his friend killed. Rodney could be a little distracted when he was way into figuring Ancient stuff out. To the point where he might not notice a Wraith until it tapped him on the shoulder asking what was for dinner, and that was a bit too late for John.

 

Standing guard over scientists could get boring, even when you were on the alert for life-sucking aliens, so...Lorne had started a conversation. Iffy subject matter in Sheppard's opinion but hey, it was something to do. So John talked back.

 

"Has to be six, seven times by now." Sheppard finally answered easily, his eyes sweeping over the only area of flat grassland, off to the right, that gave them a pretty good view of anyone approaching from that direction. Lorne was visually bisecting the terrain to their left, still a little stiff, not sure John wasn't going to make him pay for asking what he'd asked.

 

Nothing was blocking the view in front of them. Except for the big rocks. And the dead tree stumps. And ... well he and Lorne and the rest of the teams would keep an eye out for trouble so Rodney could ~not~ find a ZPM. Again. It would be nice if he did find fully charged one every once in a while. Instead of starchy potato like vegetables, or pink corn-like fruit that tasted like cotton candy and gave you a sugar rush you would never forget, followed by a tart after taste so strong it puckered every orifice. An interesting sensation sure, but not one John made a habit of seeking. He did sort of notice others who did, the fruit actually was in pretty high demand.

 

Rodney was good at finding food any where he went. It was sort of like the running food-joke on Star Trek with the nearly inedible Leola Roots.

 

John shuddered. McKay would probably be the only one in Atlantis who liked Leola Root, if it existed in Pegasus.

 

Lorne didn't come right back with the follow up to John's reply, in fact he looked thoughtful as if he was carefully weighing his response. John watched while his fingers checked the safety of his weapon then settled. They both did another scan of the area. It was instinctive, checking weapons without thinking about it, and it told John a lot. Lorne was a soldier. Had been one for a long time. He had the mind-set and the reflexes of one, the gut instincts. Some guys never picked those up, others had it from almost the beginning. Evan Lorne was one of the good ones.

 

"Do you think they know something you don't?" Lorne asked at last, steadfastly not meeting John's eyes.

 

It was John's turn to be serious. He examined Lorne's expression. "Like what, Major?" He kept his voice deceptively mild. Wondering for an instant if maybe Lorne was....naw. He frowned, though maybe...naw. John mentally kicked himself for that thought. He was reading too much into it. But there was that male botanist, John tried to remember his name and couldn't. Huh. If Lorne was gay, wouldn't that be a kick in the pants?

 

Lorne took a deep breath, but he didn't give up, and John had to admire that, in a way. "I mean... I've gone out on almost as many missions as you. Since I got to Atlantis. Say thirty-five, forty."

 

"Yeah." John conceded. It was true, their teams were about evenly matched on missions if you measured it from the time Lorne arrived and took over the number two military spot. It helped having a second in command who was as competent as Lorne was. A man you could trust to go out on missions and not create an Intergalactic Incident, or die.

 

"Your point?" Sheppard encouraged, because now he was curious in a sort of strange way. He wanted to know what Lorne would say, what he was trying to tell John with the query. Because there had to be a point. Or not. Maybe Lorne was as bored as John was. Maybe he was just shooting the breeze.

 

"No one has tried to marry me to one of my team." Lorne offered as blandly as he could. Then he added almost in an undertone, "Not even the women." John stared at him and the other man shrugged.

 

"Me either." John conceded, because it was true. He'd never been mock-married to one of his female team members. If he had he might have had to take it more seriously. And when it came down to him and Pegasus women they fell into two categories, the young unmarried daughters of an easily irritated village chief ending up with a very inconvenient crush, or the hot, mature women who put him onto his back and rode the hell out of him, but didn't want anything permanent. Which was more than fine with him in so very many ways. And it certainly caused less headache and complications than the situation with Paula was causing now. He checked his watch. Yeah. He was so not getting sex tonight.

 

It was always McKay John ended up married to. Ok. Hm. Was that an accident, or a message?

 

Was Rodney his spouse? In a Pegasus sort of way? Because how many times could a man be married before it ~took~? Was he expected by Pegasus protocol to introduce McKay as his husband? Perhaps tell the next elder that he and McKay were already married and didn't need another ceremony or ritual? But please, keep the beer coming...no.

 

John shook his head. That couldn't be right. John Sheppard being married for real? Could it? What last name would they use? John Sheppard-McKay? McKay-Sheppard? Hell it sounded ridiculous, pretentious. Hyphenated names always did. And what about nicknames? He'd go from being Shep to being...McShep? Sounded like some kind of hamburger.

 

If Sheppard thought about it, McKay would be a much better wife than husband. In John's opinion at least. Especially if the alternative was John being the wife. Nope, John was definitely not a wife. He was not domesticated. He didn't cook, he cleaned only because he had to. He was closer to a prowling tomcat. McKay had the perfect, impossible to ignore tone to his voice, too. The nagging gene. Yep, McKay was definitely the wife. John felt a certain bizarre satisfaction at having worked that out.

 

"Exactly." Lorne said. Then when John looked at him with a raised brow, added. "Facts are facts. Sir. In Pegasus the two of you are married." Lorne seemed pleased to have worked it out, said it out loud. John stared.

 

It took Sheppard a moment before he realized that Lorne didn't have any idea what he'd been thinking. He almost laughed. Then he thought about it some more.

 

It really boiled down to Rodney being the safest of all possible candidates for John to marry if he had to be married. You know, for trade purposes and keeping the peace with semi-hostile natives. Seriously, if you looked at Teyla as a possibility, besides being John's best friend she was just too hot, John would have trouble staying a gentleman, and Ronan, well he was just too big and scary, it was pretty clear who would have top billing in any honeymoon of Ronan's and John was so not ready for that.

 

"No one expects us to say we're married because some priest from another galaxy tells us we are." John defended himself lamely mostly to buy time as he thought it out. Not even if they were living in that galaxy? When in Rome and all that.... He frowned. Well, Elizabeth hadn't said anything, and she was the diplomat among them. Surely she would have said if John was expected to announce to every culture in Pegasus that he was a married man. Married to Rodney. Who every Pegasus culture ended up wanting to keep or kidnap even if they hated him. Because face it Rodney could do things, figure things out, fix things.

 

Lorne was looking like he was about to apologize, so John relented. "Hell, Lorne it doesn't matter that much, does it?" He readjusted his vest, checked to see that McKay was still alright, faced the Major once more.

 

"No. I just thought it was...interesting." The other man finished lamely. There was something in the blandness of his expression that told John that wasn't all the other man was thinking. But until it was said out loud, they could deny it. Which...wasn't important any more. Huh.

 

"Well, the hero always gets married." John said after a loaded pause, trying to lighten the atmosphere, because, they were getting a little too serious here. John really needed to think about this whole thing a hell of a lot more before he got into a real discussion. "The villagers must see me as the heroic type. The hero always gets the girl." And damn, he'd just put his foot into it. 'Cause that was sort of what Lorne had been saying all along. Any other hero got the girl and Sheppard, repeatedly got....McKay.

 

Lorne couldn't add more to that. In fact he chose to ignore it, but his cheeks looked a little pink when John glanced over at him. Saying anything else, trying to explain would be...awkward. John heard him cough, watched him shrug his shoulders under his tactical vest.

 

Further attempts at conversation on that subject or any other were curtailed when all hell broke loose.

 

The sound was like nothing John had heard before. A vast WHUMPHF! Loud and hollow with a ringing zing to it. It crackled, John's hair tried to stand on end, and in front of him he was pretty sure Lorne's did lifting in a static-y wave.

 

The air was charged for a blazing instant. Brilliant light, violet-white. Something flew past, big and fast, arcing up over their heads, and John started to run towards the place he'd last seen Rodney, intent on rounding him up and getting them under some kind of cover until John could assess and deal with the threat. Rodney, however, was gone. John jerked his head left and right. McKay was gone. God damn it, he'd only looked away for a moment.

 

Then something in his brain clicked. Rodney had just ~flown~ by.

 

Sheppard was correcting his direction and moving before he thought about it. Heading towards the place where his scientist had landed. Seventeen running strides. He counted them. How the hell could anyone survive something like that? An explosion that threw them that far. John stopped the thought in its tracks. He ran. Then he stopped. On the top of one of the hillocks, at the apex, laying spread like a starfish, Rodney was still. Utterly still as John skidded to a stop. He didn't move. John almost yelled. His boots sank into the grass, then his knees, he dropped down next to the body, next to Rodney.

 

Energy. Electricity. Thunder rumbled an angry warning overhead Too fucking late. Lightning. Rodney had been hit by lightning. John dumped his P-90, set himself and bent down. He waited, counting the seconds. Then he turned and pinched shut Rodney's nose, put his mouth over the slack one and forced air into the shocked lungs.

 

Fuck, fuck, no!

 

Why the hell hadn't McKay been worried about lightning? He was so damn paranoid about everything else, why not worry about the possibility of lightning? For that matter why hadn't John been worried? He exhaled forcefully into Rodney's mouth, felt Lorne drop down next to him, watched the major's fingers search then settle pressing to McKay's throat, stripping off his own vest with one hand. The bulky supplies in front would get in the way if he had to do compressions. He was out of half of it when Rodney coughed. John sat back, wary, he looked up into Lorne's face. Lorne's fingers stayed where they were, over the very steady, undeniable pulse. He nodded to John.

 

"Got a pulse. Breathing now." Lorne said then keyed his headset calling for medical help from Atlantis.

 

John turned his attention back to the man who he'd been was sure was permanently dead. Rodney's shirt was a mass of small charred holes, blood spotted with one, larger area of blood that was spreading.

 

John had his K-bar knife out of its sheath and in his hand. He slit the destroyed shirt up the front and peeled it back. He flicked at a small dark object and it fell out of a tiny hole in Rodney's chest. John picked it up. A sliver of metal. Not a bullet. When whatever Rodney had been working on blew up it had turned into tiny projectiles. John reached down, flicked at another. Dozens of them. He set about removing them with the tip of his knife, being very careful. Rodney let out a groan and John stopped.

 

"McKay?" He asked quietly. Rodney grimaced but didn't speak, just drew in air.

 

Gently, John supported Rodney's chin, feeling the rise and fall of the man's chest against his forearm, a rhythmic expansion and contraction. Breathing. Breathing was good. Very good. John couldn't think of anything that was better.

 

Lorne was still talking to Atlantis, answering questions for Carson, who was putting together a medical team. John looked down. The fine, light brown hair was frazzled, Rodney's relatively new haircut meant that the hair was short, and now it was fried. John couldn't describe it better than that. Fried. His gaze moved over the rest of the man. He saw the right hand, the skin pink, blistered. Rodney had been touching something with that hand. It was burned. It didn't look bad but with lightning you never knew.

 

Rodney moaned again. John bent down, sliding his hand from Rodney's chin to cradle the back of his neck and hold him still.

 

"Hey." He kept his voice low, not wanting to startle the other man. He moved carefully, setting himself so if McKay woke and was not aware John could keep him from trying to sit up or turn his head. Rodney's lids fluttered. He groaned. John almost screamed his relief.

 

"How is he?" Lorne asked, keeping his own tone calm. Sheppard held up a hand to signal he needed a minute, and started his field triage. He shifted back on his heels, ran his hands as far down Rodney's legs as he could, not feeling any breaks. Rodney winced but didn't yell at him. John moved up Rodney's body over his trunk and neck, then to his shoulders and arms.

 

"Ow." Rodney said, still laying limp, arms and legs spread. He hadn't moved an inch. John was impressed. Rodney's survival instinct was a powerful thing.

 

John shifted into a more comfortable position and Rodney grabbed at him, finding Sheppard's hand. He held on. Tight. John didn't mind at all. He felt Lorne's eyes on them, knowing the other man saw it.

 

"Don't go." Rodney said. "Don't leave me alone." And John's chest tightened. What had happened in Rodney's life that he could think that anybody, that ~John~ would leave him like this? John rubbed his thumb across the back of Rodney's hand.

 

"'Not going anywhere." Sheppard reassured, giving Rodney's hand a squeeze. "I'm staying." Rodney went back to laying absolutely still. Except his hand. He wove his fingers between John's and held on. OK. John shot Lorne a look, which Lorne responded to by getting to his feet and standing between John and the approaching Marines, sending them to the Stargate to direct the medical team. John listened to the men running. He and Rodney held hands.

 

They stayed like that for a few moments.

 

"Am I dead?" Rodney asked at last. But before John could reply, he answered his own question. "No, because being dead wouldn't hurt this much."

 

"You are going to be fine." John said. "Carson is going to be here in a few minutes." The silence went on for at least a few minutes, with Rodney breathing, his eyes closed. Then John thought of something to say. "So, "ow"? Where exactly?"

 

Rodney opened his eyes and shot him a glare. "Everywhere." There was significant emphasis on the word.

 

"Can you be more specific? Is it your arm?"

 

"Yes, it is my arm. And my feet, and my legs, and my back, and my ribs, shoulders, arms, neck, head. If you want to know what doesn't hurt, I think the end of my nose is fine. Is that detailed enough, or do you need more specifics?" The retort was far less scathing than usual. Add to that, Rodney hadn't let go of his hand yet. John wasn't about to let go either, no way, Jose.

 

It's another few minutes before Rodney opens his eyes again, looking right into John's. They are bright, they are blue, and they are trying to tell him something. John shivers despite the heat. It's bad, whatever it is.

 

"I can't breathe." Rodney's voice is utterly neutral. Eerily quiet, steady. John can see his chest rising and falling faster than it had been. He was right, it is bad.

 

"Lorne." John says over his shoulder. "Where is Carson?" Because Rodney's lips look a little blue. Or is it his imagination? John is trying to decide whether or not he should sit Rodney up and risk a neck injury, or leave him flat and risk hypoxia. He could use Carson right about now.

 

Rodney's eyes are widening, there is a shadow of panic in them and John makes his decision. "Lorne." He calls low and the other is at his side. "We need to sit him up."

 

Between the two of them they manage it, slowly. Rodney makes a sound that is indescribable but he is breathing easier, John watches his blood dotted chest to be sure. He knows what happened. One of those metal bits penetrated, went deep into a lung. Rodney has a punctured lung. Or a fractured rib. Maybe more than one.

 

It takes both John and Lorne to hold him up, Rodney isn't helping. John cradles the back of his head, letting Rodney rest partly against his chest. It is a strain, but he isn't going to move if this keeps Rodney breathing better.

 

And all the time John is thinking where the fuck is Carson?

 

Then he's thinking, what would Atlantis be like without Rodney?

 

What would his life be without Rodney? John can't picture that. His skin prickles.

 

Teyla may be John's closest friend, but Rodney...John somehow connects with him. Teyla is like the best bud, the guy you spar with, hang out with, talk to. Rodney is...more. Rodney is the one John protects. The one he brings blue jello to. Chocolate.

 

The one he gets jealous over when he sees him with anyone else.

 

John wonders why he's never thought about this before. It certainly seems important enough to think about. So, why wait until now, until Rodney is dying right in front of him, hell right in his arms.

 

John can feel Rodney starting to labor to breathe. He is fighting for calm.

 

"In and out." He says, right into Rodney's ear. "Just breathe." John feels Lorne shift, finding a more solid position or easing the strain on his body while continuing to support McKay. Rodney whimpers at that small movement. John growls deep in his chest. They were in trouble here. Where the ~fuck~ was Carson?

 

It took Carson and the team twenty seven minutes to get to them. By the time they did John thought he was going to go insane. Rodney was struggling, his eyes begging. John could only hold him, talk to him. There was nothing else he could do. Lorne stuck by them, grim.

 

The Carson was there, taking one look before fumbling in his bulky pack, tossing a bottle of iodine at Lorne, who dumped it down Rodney's trunk, covering both sides while Carson slapped his stethoscope to Rodney's chest.

 

There was a needle the size of a bayonet after that, stabbed right into his chest. Blood and air sprayed. John ended up wearing some of the blood. But Rodney could breathe again. That was enough for John. He wasn't going to lose Rodney. Not this time.

 

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

 

John had plenty of time to think back in Atlantis once Rodney was out of surgery and safely tucked into bed. He dragged his personal computer into the infirmary, found a small table and a comfortable chair and set himself up in the corner of the private room Rodney occupied. SGA-1 was off the mission rotation for the time being, one of their members being out of commission, and barring an emergency, John wasn't going to even temporarily replace Rodney and go out again. There were six other off world teams. John was willing to let them take up the slack.

 

The first day Rodney slept. The pain medication helped. John scowled when the nurses hinted that maybe he should leave when they were tending to their patient. He wasn't going anywhere. Teyla brought food, John ate at his little table. He washed in the bathroom usually reserved for patients. He changed into the clothes Ronon brought, thankfully all John owned were black pants and black T-shirts, black socks, so he didn't end up looking like Ronon had dressed him.

 

Elizabeth visited, an anxious looking Zelenka not far behind her. Ronon and Teyla came of course. And Lorne stuck his head in looking unsure of his welcome. Lorne was there mostly to see John, but he did spend time at Rodney's bedside. John and Lorne talked about work, neither alluding to the question that had been asked on the planet. But John knew it was on Lorne's mind, it was certainly on his own. Considering how close they had come to losing Rodney it wasn't a surprise that he couldn't stop asking himself if, after avoiding it for years, was he now an accidentally married man?

 

Lorne's visit reminded John he had some things to think about seriously and in depth. Why was he sitting here, staying in the room instead of out doing his job, and just visiting from time to time? Why did the idea of leaving Rodney in the capable hands of the medical staff feel like it wasn't an option? Why wasn't John out on a date with Paula playing the sympathy card to get another chance with her? He sighed. Why indeed. John wasn't a stupid man, there was a reason.

 

Right, so relationships, romance weren't really his thing. He wasn't good at them. Dating--he was a little better at that. Then there was the fun stuff, sex. John was very good at that part. Sex. He liked sex, a whole lot. What would being married do to his sex life? No, wrong question. What would being married to a ~man~ do to his sex life? Would sex with a man be better or worse?

 

John hadn't had sex with a man. He'd thought about it, what soldier hadn't when he was stuck on deployment with nothing but other men around? But he'd never been desperate enough to try anything. Desperate? Using that word was pretty telling. He equated sex with men with desperation, deprivation. Not choice. He would chose a woman rather than a man automatically. Preferentially. OK. He'd already known that. No new revelation there. But he wasn't satisfied to stop with that. There was more to consider.

 

He had fun with women. They were great, he liked them, hell his best friend was a woman. But he didn't fall in love with them. He didn't get upset when they walked away. He'd already relegated the striking Paula Sands to the past. In fact he'd not even tried to contact her since they'd gotten back.

 

So if it wasn't about sex, what was it about? Why was he spending time thinking about marriage and Rodney when he didn't want to have sex with him? What did they have in common?

 

If you got right down to it, John was more compatible with Teyla. They both liked to train, were warriors, Teyla would be the logical choice if John was looking to get married for real. Not Rodney. Rodney didn't enjoy training. He did it because John made it a requirement if he wanted to go out with the teams. Rodney wasn't easy to get along with

or easy to talk to. John didn't understand half of what he said when he went on one of his lecturing tears. He was irritable, egotistical, and he made John want to protect him.

 

Was that it? Was it because John wanted to keep his scientist safe? Was he mistaking protectiveness for something else? And what was it with calling Rodney ~his~ scientist? Everyone considered Rodney to be SGA-1's scientist but even more they thought of him as John's scientist. Whether they said it out loud or not. John didn't disagree with the assessment. Rodney was his scientist. He looked over at the sleeping man.

 

There were scraped areas on the side of the sort of homely face. You couldn't argue Rodney was handsome or good looking. Maybe average if anything. John was notorious for dating beautiful women. He liked looking at them, touching them, their fragrant skin, the way they melted under him when he finally slid home. Sweet, sensual, delicious. John liked women a whole hell of a lot. His body did the hormone thing every time he looked at Paula and women like her. It made no sense at all to give them up.

 

So how come he was thinking about Rodney? How come he was actually wondering about being married to him? When it came to women beautiful or not, getting married was not on John Sheppard's top ten list of things to do. Not on his top one hundred either. He was perfectly happy being single. He planned to be single for a long time to come. But, it seemed fate had snuck a fast one over him. Because, really, John Sheppard was a married man for as long as he stayed in Pegasus, and maybe longer.

 

Rodney was close enough for John to touch without getting up, before he could think of the reasons why he shouldn't, John reached out and touched him. Most of the holes caused by the metal had been too small to bother stitching but on the arm closest to John there was a row of stitches. The gash there had been a few inches long, shallow and not too serious. Looking at it made John feel queasy. Because it was Rodney. On any one else it would be just a repaired laceration, taken care of, no big deal. It wasn't like it had been deep or on his face or someplace more sensitive. It bothered John because it was on Rodney. He'd rather he'd been the one injured, he realized. He have gladly traded places to save the other man the pain.

 

John gently lifted Rodney's hand and flexed his fingers. Rodney's hands were big, square, strong. There were calluses on his palms and all along the blunt fingers. John thought about what Rodney could do with those hands. Everything. There wasn't anything on Atlantis Rodney couldn't fix or figure out. John believed that, he was as much a mechanic as a genius. Given enough time, not even ZPM technology would be out of McKay's reach. But his hands looked like the hands of a laborer. Aside from how clean they were, of course, no dirt under his nails. Rodney wasn't hesitant to work with his hands. He'd been working with them when the accident happened. Digging.

 

John very carefully threaded his fingers through Rodney's. His own hands looked small when compared to McKay's. Almost delicate, long fingered and artistic. Unmarred by the scratches Rodney's bore. He decided that he liked how it felt holding Rodney's hand. Being married wasn't too bad either, once he got used to the idea. He wondered how McKay would take the news. Because John planned to be the one to tell him.


End file.
